Love on the Circle Line
by Clear Skies
Summary: Second chapter up. Matt takes his new boyfriend to...a karaoke bar???
1. Love on the Circle Line

A/N: Hm. Can't think of one.   
_Bluebottle:_ Thinks: What shall I thinks? Thinks: I can't think of a think! Unthinks.   
OK, only people who listen to The Goons will get that. Anyone else will just think I'm even more of a loon than they already thought I was.   
Still and all, you'd be right, so who am I to criticise?   
Anyway. *wrenches mind back onto Fic with effort* This one took a while to materialise, mostly because it came in chunks. It appears to be Lynne's new method of working - somehow the Muses' Union has organised her flexi-time, so I get bits and pieces of lots of different fics all mixed together and cast up on the shore of my brain.   
This one...is unusual. It's the closest to a True AU fic I've come yet. I can't actually tell you how it came about, because I don't really know. And it's not a one-shot, not if I have anything to say about it. As usual, though, that depends upon response...   
**Disclaimer:** usual stuff. Digimon ain't mine. Matt and Tai may live inside my head (and they do), but I'm not authorised to do any of this stuff with them. And the London Underground doesn't belong to me either - I'd never fit it in my room.   
  
  
_____   
  
  
  
_"The next station is Westminster. Change here for..."   
_"Nnh..."   
As the carriage coalesces before my eyes, my first reaction is _Oh, shit!_   
Luckily, my second is _calm down, this is the Circle Line... _  
Then consciousness finally kicks in, and I realise I'm not upright. _Damn it, Kamiya, you can't even stay awake for two minutes! One stop, that's all you had to go, but nooo, you had to go and fall asleep on god-knows-what...   
_'God-knows-what' appears in this case to be someone's shoulder. My eyes travel up the dark-blue material of a shirt to a pair of amused blue eyes behind lightly-tinted glasses.   
Ah. So, an attractive young man's shoulder, then.   
These are the kind of eyes you could fall in love with, even without the...my brain tries to analyse the input from sleep-blurred eyes...the lovely half-smile, flawless creamy skin and shampoo-advert-golden hair.   
The amused smile becomes a lopsided grin. "I bet myself that you had beautiful brown eyes. I guess I owe myself a fiver."   
Belatedly, I realise my head's still resting on his shoulder, and I'm staring up at him. I jerk away, blinking furiously to try and clear the sleep from my eyes. "What?"   
When I can see again, he's still smiling amusedly at me, blue eyes dancing behind his glasses. "What stop were you hoping for?" He tilts his head towards the station map on the wall. "Because I don't think we're in Kansas any more."   
I look at the floor, embarrassed. "I only wanted to go two stops."   
His clear laughter fills the carriage, causing the only other occupant - an elderly man, as fast asleep as I was a minute ago - to shift and mutter unintelligibly in his sleep. "Oh, we left Baker Street behind a long time ago. But if you wait long enough it'll come round again. In the meantime," he stretches his long legs out in front of him and extends a hand to me, "Matt Ishida."   
I take it, trying to regain some of my composure. "Taichi. Taichi Kamiya."   
He chuckles again. "Not related to Boutros Boutros Ghali, are you?"   
Despite myself, I can't help smiling. "My friends call me Tai."   
"Mine wouldn't dare call me Matthew," my new acquaintance grins. "You're not English, are you?"   
I shake my head. "Japanese. I'm over here working for the British Medical Journal. What about you? Ishida doesn't sound very English to me."   
He gives a kind of one-shoulder shrug, as if to indicate that it's not important. "We moved here when I was very young. Dad's a journalist - he works for the BBC now."   
A vague memory stirs - a grizzled-looking correspondent signing off with "...Ishida, the Houses of Parliament, Westminster."   
  
A brief silence follows, and I use the respite to tidy myself up a bit - and take a few surreptitious sideways glances at Matt. I feel very plain next to him, in just a short-sleeved white shirt, red tie and pinstripe trousers. He looks stunning in a shimmery dark-blue shirt and silver tie, and of course those slightly-tinted glasses - are they prescription, or just for show? I can't tell...   
The recorded voice chimes in again, telling us that this station is the Embankment, and to change here for Northern, Jubilee and Bakerloo lines. The train slides smoothly into the station - there aren't many people around at this time, even in such a big main-line station. Suddenly, just as the doors are opening, Matt grabs my hand and pulls me out of my seat. I barely have time to snatch up my jacket and case before the doors slam shut behind us, and we're out on the platform, the close air of the carriage swapped for the cooler but still artificial breeze of the station.   
"I know a faster way," he explains. "We can take the Bakerloo from here straight to Baker Street. It'll cut at least half an hour."   
"Fair enough," I manage to pant out as he lopes ahead of me, up stairs and through a bewildering maze of corridors. I only know my own little corner of the Underground - the Circle Line between the British Medical Association at Euston Square and Baker Street, and the Jubilee line out to Swiss Cottage where there's my favourite Vietnamese restaurant - so I haven't a clue where he's going.   
I eventually catch up with him on an escalator, almost going head-first down it. He catches me just in time, grabbing my arm to steady me, and I look up into his laughing blue eyes. Those eyes never seem to stop laughing, even when his face is serious - it's as though he finds the humour in every situation.   
Especially so when I've nearly broken my neck falling down an escalator. I dust myself off, trying to look nonchalant, but even as I do so we both hear the sound of a train pulling into the platform below.   
He turns and grins at me. "Reckon we can catch it?"   
"From here?" I stare incredulously at him. "No chance!"   
"Want to bet?" And then he's off again, careering down what's left of the escalator and off through the station. I pant after him, bewildered, calling on my long-ago soccer training to keep up with him. People stare, and some glare, as we speed past them, rattling down the last set of steps onto the platform just as the doors are closing. Matt leaps onto the train, slamming the 'open' button to keep them from shutting completely; I just manage to squeeze through the last remaining gap before they clunk shut.   
Unfortunately, since my hands are full with jacket and case, I can't reach up to grab one of the handholds before the train pulls off. The sudden motion throws me off balance, and I end up teetering precariously, unable to right myself. Just as I think I'm about to fall over, Matt grabs me, encircling me with his arms and keeping me on my feet. I look back over my shoulder, smiling up at him.   
"Thanks."   
"No problem," he smiles, sinking gratefully into a seat. "Told you we were going to catch it."   
"Know-it-all." It's weird - I've known him barely ten minutes, and yet already we're teasing each other as though we've been friends for ages.   
As I slide into the seat next to him, he stretches out an arm and drapes it around my shoulders. The gentle motion of the carriage is soothing, and even in the short time before we reach Baker Street I can feel my head nodding - only to be jerked awake by a prod from Matt.   
"Hey, don't fall asleep on me again." He chuckles, and winks at me. "Not that I _mind_, but," he slides fluidly out of his seat, "this is your stop."   
_My_ stop? I can't help wondering at that, even as I grab my case and follow him off the train. If this isn't _his_ stop, where is? Have I dragged him miles across London at gone eleven p.m., forcing him to trek all the way back again?   
"Have I brought you out of your way?" I ask him as the elevator carries us up to ground level, but he waves my worries away.   
"Forget about it. Five, ten minutes and I'll be back home. Dad's flat isn't far from Euston Square - or from the British Association, for that matter. So...maybe I'll see you around?"   
There's a definite question in his voice as we step off the escalator. I guess the polite thing to do would be to thank him for his trouble, maybe swap phone numbers and half-hearted promises to call each other. I open my mouth.   
"Walk me back to my hotel?"   
Startled, I try to squint down at my mouth, wondering where those words came from - but the apprehension just melts away when Matt's face lights up.   
"I'd love to."   
  
I daren't open my mouth all the way back to the hotel, for fear of saying something else really stupid. It doesn't matter, though - Matt chatters away amiably, seeming not to notice my silence.   
Truth is, I'm not saying anything because I'm trying to sort out my feelings. Matt is unbelievably gorgeous, and I can't deny how attracted I am to him, but I barely know the guy! I can't just jump into a relationship with him after five minutes!   
On the other hand...he's not _entirely_ indifferent to me, as that corny, cliché, _perfect_ line about my eyes shows. And it feels like I've known him a lot longer than five minutes. And, when it comes right down to it..._why not? _   
  
By the time the door of my hotel looms up before us, I've made a decision. For good or evil, I'm not letting Matt get away. I'm not a great believer in destiny or anything, but even if our meeting _was_ coincidence, that doesn't mean I shouldn't take advantage of it. Sure, I could walk away, and he'd just be 'that cute guy I once saw on the Tube', but I'd much rather he were 'that gorgeous guy I met on the Tube _and who is now my boyfriend_'.   
Now if I can just tell him that...   
He stops at the door and extends a hand to me, a smile quirking his lips. "Well, I guess this is it. It was great to have you fall asleep on me. We must do it again sometime."   
It's his laugh that does it - the clear, infectious laugh that soars out into the cold night air. My resolve hardens - I couldn't bear never to hear that laugh again. I steel myself, trying to sound flirtatious - or at the very least not as shit-scared as I really am.   
"You mean you're not going to come in for coffee?"   
His face lights up again, his already stunning features transformed even further by a huge grin. "Coffee...would be great."   
I cover my embarrassment - and relief - by scrabbling through my pockets for my room key as he courteously holds the front door open for me. The girl at reception glances up, recognising and smiling at me - then does a double take as Matt walks through the door after me. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open before she has time to recover her composure; then she looks at me, winks, and starts semaphoring madly with her eyebrows.   
I raise one of my own - I can speak Japanese and French, but not Eyebrow - and she beckons surreptitiously to me. I glance at Matt, who smiles at me, oblivious, before I move over to the desk.   
"_Who's that?_" she hisses at me, before announcing - purely for Matt's benefit - "Room thirty-seven, sir?"   
"Yes please," I answer, dropping to a whisper to tell her, "_He's called Matt._"   
She makes a pretence of looking for my key - which, of course, I already have - whilst sneaking glances at Matt from under her lashes. "_Quite the looker, isn't he?_" she whispers, fluttering a hand over her heart.   
I must've gone bright red, because she chuckles and winks at me. "There you are, sir," she grins, sliding the spare key to my room across the counter.   
"Thanks," I manage, and she giggles again.   
"_Don't forget the 'Don't Disturb' sign,_" is her sotto voce parting shot, and I blush scarlet for the second time as I turn away.   
Luckily, Matt doesn't seem to notice, as I gather up my coat and case and lead the way up the stairs, trying to ignore my pounding heart and churning stomach. I don't think I've ever been this nervous before in my life...   
  
After what seems like fifteen flights of stairs, the door to room 37 finally reveals itself. I unlock it and dump my stuff gratefully in the corner of the room. True, it's on the small side, but it's clean, smells nice and has a bathroom and shower and oh god, nowhere to sit except the bed...   
However, Matt doesn't mind, settling himself comfortably on the end of it as I try and coax the ageing coffee machine into some semblance of life.   
"Nice place," he remarks as I curse and resort to violence against the intransigent machine. "You been here long?"   
"Nope," I reply over my shoulder, cheering inwardly as the coffee-maker shows signs of life. "Just a month. Another two weeks, and then I'm off home to Japan. Sugar?"   
He chews on his lower lip for a moment, caught between healthiness and taste and looking adorable in the process. "Go on, then. But I'll have it black - wouldn't want to fall asleep on your shoulder, now, would I?"   
"I wouldn't complain," I tease in return, handing him a steaming cup of midnight-black coffee. He takes a sip, looking at me through the space between the rim of his cup and his trailing golden bangs.   
"Mmm," he murmurs appreciatively, "now that is one _good_ cup of coffee."   
"I've had practice," I tell him, plopping down on the bed next to him and taking a long drink from my own cup. God knows I need the caffeine - I'm shattered.   
"I guess I ought to apologise."   
I turn abruptly at those words, searching for a sign that something's wrong, but there's still that spark of amusement dancing in his blue eyes.   
"What for?" I respond guardedly.   
"That terrible line about your eyes." He chuckles, shaking his head deprecatingly.   
"Don't apologise," I tell him firmly. "I take it as a compliment."   
"And it was meant as one." He sets his cup down, staring intensely at me. "I meant it. You have really beautiful eyes."   
My heart catches in my throat as his hand seeks out mine, our fingers twining subconsciously together. Then he leans forward and kisses me.   
  
We part a few seconds later, unwillingly. His lips are soft and warm, his taste indescribable; I lean back reluctantly, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks as he gives me that lovely lopsided grin. "Wow."   
"Wow yourself," I murmur, picking up my coffee mug and turning away to hide my embarrassment. I get to my feet, moving over to the sink to wash the cups, but he follows me. Within a second, his warm arms are around me, turning me back round to face him, and then his fingers are working on the top button of my shirt.   
"I've been wanting to do this since I first met you," he says conversationally, his tone belying his actions. Then he flicks his gaze up to mine, dazzling smile and laughing eyes making my heart miss a beat. "I didn't just bet on your eyes, you see."   
I stand there, not daring to breathe as his gentle hands shift down my chest, button after button, until finally he slides my shirt off my shoulders and it drops unheeded onto the floor.   
"Whoa," he murmurs. I drop my eyes and blush again as he leans in close, lips barely an inch from my neck, breath warm on my skin. "I guess I win..."   
Suddenly daring, I reach up to his face, sliding my hands up his neck and into his thick, lustrous hair. "Does this means I get to do something I've been wanting to do since I met you?"   
He looks at me for a moment, unsure what I mean, and I take advantage of his confusion to slip my fingers up to his ears, unhooking his glasses and pulling them gently away from his face.   
_Wow._ If his eyes were stunning before, without those tinted glasses in the way they are _beautiful_. Blue as the clearest deep water, as the cloudless summer sky. I trail my hands back through his hair, letting it flow through my fingers.   
"Does your daddy know you're out this late?" I tease him as he takes my hands in his and walks backwards towards the bed, drawing me with him.   
"I'm a big boy now," he murmurs, chuckling softly. "I can stay out as late as I want."   
"I like the sound of that," I purr as he pulls me to him until he can kiss the tip of my nose. My last thought as his mouth slips down and captures mine is _maybe the receptionist was right...the sign would've been a good idea... _  
Still, it's not like we're going to be available to answer the door, right?   
_Do Not Disturb..._


	2. The Fairytale of New York

A/N: I hope this chapter lives up to the promise of the first one...   
Disclaimer: none of the characters belong to me (except the 'middle-aged couple', who are embarrassingly close to my mum and dad...). The song lyrics used herein are the property of their respective authors and are used without permission.   
  
  
_________   
  
  
_ DND   
Hang the sign on the door   
DND   
Don't disturb us no more   
How like you   
To make your love my hideaway and   
How like you   
To make my troubles slide away and   
How like you   
To make me want to play forever   
Here behind our door   
_   
The refrain goes humming through the back of my mind as I look up at him from where I lie, head resting lightly on his shoulder. His golden hair fans out across the pillow, reflecting the early morning sun and scattering it across the ceiling, a thousand facets of sunlight shifting gently in time with his breathing. I trail my fingers gently over his chest, his smooth skin warm against my fingers.   
Eventually he cracks an eyelid open and smiles sleepily down at me. "Hey."   
"Morning. Sleep well?"   
He stretches like a cat, every muscle extended to its utmost. "_ Very_ well. But...can I ask you something?"   
_ Oh, god. What did I do? What did I _**_ not_**_ do? What could I have done better? What -_   
"Do I snore?"   
The twinkle in his eye tells me he's pulling my leg. Well, two can play at that game. "Terribly. Didn't get a wink of sleep. Why else d'you think I've got dark circles under my eyes?"   
"Well..." He winks at me. "I can think of, ooh, one or two reasons - or maybe three or four. After all, it _ was_ well past midnight when we got to sleep..." Crooking an arm behind his head, he shoots me a distinctly lascivious look - damn, but he's pleased with himself.   
"I can make up the sleep some other time." I tickle him gently under his arm, causing him to snort and bring the arm down sharply. He retaliates by elbowing me in the ribs, and rather than prolong the engagement I roll out of bed.   
There aren't many hotels like this, I muse as I walk the few metres into the kitchen area. It's like a cross between self-catering and bed-and-breakfast - they provide all the facilities, and all you have to do is make the food. There's a one-ring electric hob-slash-oven, a microwave, the obdurate coffee maker and a miniature kitchen sink. Despite all this, the room's still relatively cheap - cheap enough for me to afford it, anyway. My job at the BMJ brings in a decent wage, more than enough to live off - although if I need a bit of extra cash I've got some friends down at one of the local bars who can always use a hand on busy Sunday nights.   
However, Saturday is _ my_ day. And for the first time - I shoot a glance back over my shoulder at the gorgeous blonde still relaxing on the bed - I've got someone to share it with.   
"Coffee?" I ask him, and he smiles at me.   
"Might be an idea. I," he yawns hugely, "am shattered. Caffeine would be great right about now."   
"Industrial strength it is, then," I tease, and he fixes me with a mock-serious look. That cracks me up, and I'm still giggling when the machine gurgles unwillingly and produces two sinfully strong cups of hot coffee. I spoon a little sugar into his cup, but before I can pick it up something brushes against my bare shoulder. I swat absent-mindedly at it -   
"Ow!"   
- and then freeze when I realise it's not a fly after all. I turn round to find Matt sitting on the floor, holding his nose.   
"Jesus," he mutters, "one day into the relationship and the domestic violence starts already."   
Despite the joke, I'm worried I've really hurt him; I drop to one knee beside him and gently pull his hand away.   
"It's OK, it's not bleeding," he says, sounding slightly muffled. I tilt his head back just in case, holding it there for a few seconds until I'm satisfied I haven't given him a nosebleed.   
"God, I'm so sorry," I murmur, and he chuckles.   
"My own damn fault - shouldn't've crept up on you like that. Mind you, it could've been worse - another few seconds and I'd've got a faceful of boiling coffee."   
I cradle his chin in one hand, stroking his hair with the other. "You sure you're okay?"   
He grins. "If not, I can always get a job as a train announcer." He pinches his nose and makes his voice high and squeaky. "_ The train arriving at Platform Six will be five minutes late..._ "   
I chuckle, then stroke his abused nose with a finger. "I'm sorry I hurt you."   
He pulls my finger to his mouth and kisses it. "Oh, I'm sure I'll find some way for you to make it up to me..."   
I blush. "D'you want your coffee now?"   
  
Back on the bed, idly watching breakfast news, we sip our coffee slowly. His arm is warm around my shoulders; I snuggle up to him, downing the last of my drink and nuzzling his neck.   
He looks down at me, grinning. "Any plans for today, or are you just going to seduce me?"   
I run my tongue along his collarbone, provoking a gasp and a quiet laugh. "Oh, that too, but I thought we could go for a walk somewhere."   
"Where?"   
  
How does St James's Park manage to stay so beautiful, even in the depths of winter? By all logic, it should look horrible - stark claw-like trees with their leaves mouldering in piles around their roots, overcast sky, paths churned into mud by the passage of countless feet. Instead, the trees look majestic in their bareness, reaching towards the cloudless blue sky with countless branches. The paths are firm and gravelled, with not a single rotten leaf in sight. And best of all - I sneak a glance at him from the corner of my eye - I've got Matt with me.   
He looks wonderful, tall and slender in his long black coat. I catch his hand and give it a quick squeeze; he looks at me and smiles, lacing his fingers into mine and squeezing back.   
"Isn't this beautiful?" he murmurs, mirroring my thoughts.   
"Yes," I breathe, looking not at the park but at him, his bright smile and golden hair. _ God, I love you...   
_ He sits down on the next bench we come to, reaching out and taking my hands as I join him.   
"Tai..." His big blue eyes, mirrors of the cloudless December sky, hold mine. "This is like the best kind of dream. I've only known you a day, and yet you mean so much to me already. It's like there was never anyone else in my life except you." He places a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Last night was incredible, but I don't want it to end there - I want to be with you tonight, and tomorrow night, and every night, and all the days in between. I don't want to miss a moment."   
I lean in, resting my forehead against his. "Oh, _ Matt..._ "   
He smiles warmly at me, then pulls me to my feet again, slips his arm around my waist and walks onward.   
  
He pulls me right at the next junction of paths, away from the main track, away from the few other people who are foolish enough to venture out on this freezing cold morning. We walk in silence for a few minutes along a narrow path, coming down towards the edge of the lake, screened from the rest of the park by a hedge of evergreens.   
When we reach the shore of the lake, he bends down and picks up a flat stone, then turns to me. "What do you want to do tonight?"   
I shrug. "I hadn't really planned anything. Have you?"   
"Well...I had two ideas. One," he squeezes my hand again, "we go out for a romantic candlelight dinner, or two," he smiles wickedly, "we go to a karaoke bar."   
My mouth drops open. "Are you serious?"   
"You've never done karaoke before?"   
"I can't sing a note!" I protest.   
"Nonsense. I bet you've got a great voice. Tell you what," he says, turning away, "how about we let the stone decide? Odds, the candlelight dinner; evens, the karaoke. Okay?"   
Before I can reply, he flicks his wrist and sends the stone scything out over the water. It skips lightly over the surface, and I can hear Matt counting under his breath - '_ one, two, three...'_ Every odd number, I pray for it to stop; every even, I will it to keep going.   
As it reaches eight, its last energy spent, it slips under the water and disappears.   
"Evens," Matt grins, looking at my horrified expression. "Looks like you and I'll be doing some singing tonight..."   
I fall to my knees, pressing a hand dramatically to my forehead. "Oh, woe, woe...can I talk you out of this?"   
"Nope," he says with an air of finality.   
"Oh well."   
  
His touch is light on my shoulder, jerking me out of my half-doze - why can I never stay awake on Tube trains? "This stop."   
I follow him unwillingly off the train, dreading what's ahead. Ever the gentleman, he helps me out of the carriage, then loops his arm casually around my waist and leads the way up the stairs to the outside world.   
  
The bar is more than a little smoky, but at least it's well-lit and not too noisy, despite the middle-aged couple up on stage crooning away to _ Saying Something Stupid Like I Love You_ . It could be worse, actually - at least they're in tune, which is more than I'll be.   
I sneak a sidelong glance at Matt, wondering what he's got planned, but as usual he's giving nothing away. His eyes are unreadable behind his glasses; his expression, while cheerful, is completely inscrutable.   
The couple on stage bring the song to a close, the woman soaring up into a slightly wobbly descant on the last chorus. That's another thing - how is everyone else going to respond to two guys getting up there and singing to each other?   
Matt knocks back the rest of his drink and squeezes my hand reassuringly. "We're next." Before I can demur, he pushes out of his seat in one fluid motion and goes to talk to the compere.   
After a few seconds, the compere gives him a thumbs-up, then moves over to the karaoke machine. Still frozen in my seat, I can only watch as Matt picks up a microphone and turns to face the audience, his golden hair shimmering in the stage lights.   
  
There's a moment's breathless silence, and then the music starts - a simple piano riff, slightly melancholy.   
Then Matt's voice comes over the music, and instantly I know what the song is. My favourite Christmas song, the song without which it isn't Christmas at all. Fairytale of New York.   
_   
"It was Christmas Eve, babe, in the drunk tank   
An old man said to me, 'Won't see another one'   
And then he sang a song, The Rare Old Mountain Dew   
I turned my face away, and dreamed about you"   
_   
His voice is clear and perfectly in tune, which only makes me more worried about what I'm going to sound like up there. He pulls his glasses off, his dazzling blue eyes seeking out mine, and he holds out a hand to me. Feeling like I'm in a dream, I make my way dazedly up to the stage; the compere hands me a microphone, which I take without even noticing.   
He soars into the next verse as I come up beside him, taking my hand and pulling me close.   
  
_ "Got on the lucky one, came in eighteen to one   
I've got a feeling there's years for me and you   
So Happy Christmas, I love you baby   
I can see a better time when all our dreams come true"   
_   
On the last line he draws me in and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. I trace a finger up his cheek as violins explode around us; then without warning it's my part, and without even having to look at the words (well, it is my favourite song, after all) I'm singing along full voice.   
  
_ "They got cars big as bars, they got rivers of gold   
But the wind goes right through you, it's no place for the old   
When you first took my hand on that cold Christmas Eve   
You promised me Broadway was waiting for me"   
_   
I'm getting into the part now, leaning forward to tell him _ "You were handsome"_ ; he laughs and responds with _ "You were pretty, Queen of New York City"_ , and then our voices merge for the next few lines.   
_ "When the band finished playing they held out for more   
Sinatra was swinging, all the drunks they were singing   
We kissed on the corner, then danced through the night"   
_ Then his voice soars up, hitting every note perfectly crystal-clear as he leads the way into the chorus.   
_ "The boys in the NYPD choir were singing 'Galway Bay'   
And the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day"   
_   
There's a short interlude, violins playing merrily, and we take the opportunity to get our breath back. Then I realise what I have to call him in the next verse, and my face falls; he must've seen it, because he reaches out and takes my hand, mouthing _ "just go with it"_ .   
I steel myself as the music draws towards my next line, but the show must go on:   
_ "You're a bum, you're a punk"   
_ He feigns outrage, looking adorable with his mouth open, then retaliates with   
_ "You're an old slut on junk   
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed"   
_ I pull away from him and fake a slap to his left cheek, pointing at him accusingly and declaiming,   
_ "You scumbag, you maggot   
You cheap lousy faggot   
Happy Christmas your arse, I pray God it's our last"   
_ Then he grabs my hand and pulls me back in, our faces inches apart, staring deep into each other's eyes as we sing the chorus together.   
_ "The boys in the NYPD choir are still singing 'Galway Bay'   
And the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day"   
_   
The music quietens, moving back to the solemn mood of the beginning. Matt lets go of my hand and slides down onto one knee; my head is still spinning as he looks up at me, his laughing blue eyes giving the lie to the pleading tone in his voice as he sings _ "I could have been someone..."_   
I turn away, feigning rejection, looking back over my shoulder at him to deliver the next few lines:   
_ "Well so could anyone   
You took my dreams from me   
When I first found you"   
_ He leaps back onto his feet, catching my arm and pulling me round until we're face to face, our lips almost touching, his breath warm on my face.   
_ "I kept them with me, babe," _ he assures me, _ "I put them with my own,   
Can't make it all alone   
I've built my dreams around you"   
_   
I slip my arms around his waist, the two of us sharing one microphone as we sing the final chorus with one voice, our faces moving closer and closer together with every passing second.   
  
_ "The boys in the NYPD choir are still singing 'Galway Bay'   
And the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day"   
_   
As the last note dies away he slides his arms around my neck, closes the last distance between us and kisses me, long and lingeringly. The closing violins swirl around our heads as applause breaks out around the bar, but I'm oblivious - all that matters right now is his warm arms and soft lips.   
  
We're still laughing as we tumble off the Underground at Baker Street, hopelessly tangled in one another's arms and not caring at all.   
"There, you see?" He grins hugely, monumentally pleased with himself. "Told you you'd enjoy it."   
I mock-pout at him. "I still get my romantic dinner, right?"   
He chuckles and messes up my hair affectionately. "What d'you think tomorrow night's for?"   
I look up at him, so beautiful in the light from the streetlamps, his golden hair a halo around his head. "Walk me back to my hotel?"   
He laughs, moving in to put his arms around me again. "Love to." 


End file.
